clear or accuse anybody, I need to get a hold of Mary Jane. You have any idea where he might be?”
“Naw,” Joe said. He crossed his arms as if to dare Chambers to contradict him. The old man sitting next to him lit a cigarette. White-haired farmer: Chambers had met him only one time before. He thought they may have called him Happy, but like his son-in-law, the man looked anything but.
“When was the last time you saw Mary Jane?” Chambers asked.
“I’d say it’s been a couple weeks. He’s kept right busy, out at Widow Coleman’s farm. You been out there yet?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“She didn’t know where he was at.”
“Well hell’s bells, Sheriff, my brother’s done took off.”
“So it seems.”
The boys came into the kitchen and the older one said, “We’re going down to the creek for a while.”
The younger one added, “Tommy and the gang are going swimming at the dock.”
“It is hot out there,” Joe said.
“I feel like I’m about to fry,” the older boy said. Chambers couldn’t remember the boys’ names either. He’d always been good with names and had done well with all but the youngest generation. He knew just about everyone over twenty years old in the county, but now there were just too many younguns for him.
“You know, I saw you hanging back to chat up the Tull girl after church.”
“Daddy, that was nothing.”
“Maybe so, but she’s not one to go off sparking on a Sunday afternoon.”
“I hear you.”
“She’s not the kind of girl you want to get in trouble with. Especially now.”
“I hear you,” the older said again, and turned away. The younger looked over at the sheriff, seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he followed his brother out.
“She’s not one of us,” Joe called. He looked at Chambers and said, “My oldest has taken a liking to Evelyn Tull.”
“She is pretty.”
“Pretty dangerous.”
“That too.”
“What are we going to do about Mary Jane?” Joe asked.
Susannah came in and leaned against the wall and waited for Chambers to answer.
“I don’t know. I trust y’all haven’t seen him, but if you do, call me. I know he’s kin, but it’ll be safer for everyone if you don’t try to harbor him.”
“Mary Jane wouldn’t come here and ask that of us,” Joe said.
“Well, if he does. I’m sure Larthan would love a word with him as well, and he doesn’t have what you’d consider a high regard for the law.” Chambers took a breath and said, “I’ve taken enough of your time. You know anyone else he might be staying with?”
Joe shook his head.
“Ma’am,” Chambers said, nodding at Susannah. He put on his hat and headed for the door. Joe followed, and the grandfather sat at the table, still not saying a word, nor looking up at the sheriff. Some folks sure were strange.
A s the brothers headed down the hill toward the Broad River, waves of heat in the air blurred the roads and the mill and even the village houses. Above them, always, the mill’s smokestacks clawed their way above the treeline and towered over the village, red bricks hot as a stovetop, like embers of coal. The Catawba and Broad rivers bracketed Castle County. Lazy, wide, and brown, they flowed south out of North Carolina and became the Tigris and Euphrates of the South Carolina textile boom. Cotton mills lined their banks like the beginnings of civilization, the first weak and stumbling steps of progress. Just outside of town, there was a spot near the trestle, a clearing in the pines on the banks of the Broad River, out of sight from everyone, where kids went to get into trouble, a good place to drink whiskey, a good place to spark.
Out of sight of the house, Quinn said, “Just hang out with us fora while. Then you can tell them you got tired, or that I went off with the gang.”
“What’d y’all talk about after church?”
“I told her the riverbank near Coleman’s farm was a good place to watch a sunset.”
“She’s
“Naw,” Joe said. He crossed his arms as if to dare Chambers to contradict him. The old man sitting next to him lit a cigarette. White-haired farmer: Chambers had met him only one time before. He thought they may have called him Happy, but like his son-in-law, the man looked anything but.
“When was the last time you saw Mary Jane?” Chambers asked.
“I’d say it’s been a couple weeks. He’s kept right busy, out at Widow Coleman’s farm. You been out there yet?”
“I have.”
“And?”
“She didn’t know where he was at.”
“Well hell’s bells, Sheriff, my brother’s done took off.”
“So it seems.”
The boys came into the kitchen and the older one said, “We’re going down to the creek for a while.”
The younger one added, “Tommy and the gang are going swimming at the dock.”
“It is hot out there,” Joe said.
“I feel like I’m about to fry,” the older boy said. Chambers couldn’t remember the boys’ names either. He’d always been good with names and had done well with all but the youngest generation. He knew just about everyone over twenty years old in the county, but now there were just too many younguns for him.
“You know, I saw you hanging back to chat up the Tull girl after church.”
“Daddy, that was nothing.”
“Maybe so, but she’s not one to go off sparking on a Sunday afternoon.”
“I hear you.”
“She’s not the kind of girl you want to get in trouble with. Especially now.”
“I hear you,” the older said again, and turned away. The younger looked over at the sheriff, seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he followed his brother out.
“She’s not one of us,” Joe called. He looked at Chambers and said, “My oldest has taken a liking to Evelyn Tull.”
“She is pretty.”
“Pretty dangerous.”
“That too.”
“What are we going to do about Mary Jane?” Joe asked.
Susannah came in and leaned against the wall and waited for Chambers to answer.
“I don’t know. I trust y’all haven’t seen him, but if you do, call me. I know he’s kin, but it’ll be safer for everyone if you don’t try to harbor him.”
“Mary Jane wouldn’t come here and ask that of us,” Joe said.
“Well, if he does. I’m sure Larthan would love a word with him as well, and he doesn’t have what you’d consider a high regard for the law.” Chambers took a breath and said, “I’ve taken enough of your time. You know anyone else he might be staying with?”
Joe shook his head.
“Ma’am,” Chambers said, nodding at Susannah. He put on his hat and headed for the door. Joe followed, and the grandfather sat at the table, still not saying a word, nor looking up at the sheriff. Some folks sure were strange.
A s the brothers headed down the hill toward the Broad River, waves of heat in the air blurred the roads and the mill and even the village houses. Above them, always, the mill’s smokestacks clawed their way above the treeline and towered over the village, red bricks hot as a stovetop, like embers of coal. The Catawba and Broad rivers bracketed Castle County. Lazy, wide, and brown, they flowed south out of North Carolina and became the Tigris and Euphrates of the South Carolina textile boom. Cotton mills lined their banks like the beginnings of civilization, the first weak and stumbling steps of progress. Just outside of town, there was a spot near the trestle, a clearing in the pines on the banks of the Broad River, out of sight from everyone, where kids went to get into trouble, a good place to drink whiskey, a good place to spark.
Out of sight of the house, Quinn said, “Just hang out with us fora while. Then you can tell them you got tired, or that I went off with the gang.”
“What’d y’all talk about after church?”
“I told her the riverbank near Coleman’s farm was a good place to watch a sunset.”
“She’s
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